


I'll Be Your Home (Forever and Always)

by ScarletPotter



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A whole lot of angst, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, BUT HE GETS KIDNAPPED, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter has spider bite, Peter is Spiderman, Psychological Torture, Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, Torture, Villain Quentin Beck, aka mysterio, and torture, because she's dead, by quentin beck, fluff will come, if so i will let you know, kinda like seven days in hell, not that graphic, okay i know but just listen it works so beautifully well it's not even funny, quentin beck gets what he deserves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-10-19 12:09:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletPotter/pseuds/ScarletPotter
Summary: Peter didn't plan on being kidnapped, it all just sorta, maybe, happened?Peter was on his way to meet Ned when suddenly everything goes dark. When he wakes up he's restrained to a table and a man introduces himself to be Quentin Beck, and that he's going to kill him.[Torture-read at your own risk!]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parkrstark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkrstark/gifts).

Peter Stark didn’t plan on a lot of things. He didn’t plan on staying up until two am studying for a precalculus exam, and he didn’t plan on not sleeping for the past three days, but hey, when life throws Starks lemons, they make a whole ass suit and take off to space. It’s just what they do. However, Peter who had four pop quizzes this week, two very important exams, plus was out on patrol until three am because god forbid the police do their actual job. So saying that he was exhausted was an understatement. 

He woke up on a lazy Saturday to Tony Stark calling him at the ungodly hour of seven am. Peter groggily pulled himself out of bed following FRIDAY’s voice to his lab where his father-figure was apparently “giddy with excitement,'' FRIDAY's words, not his. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands as he slid into a seat yawning. He spoke groggily, “What was so important that you had to wake me up on a Saturday at seven am? Was the school weak not enough?” Tony leaned forward with a childish smirk on his face, “As sleep worthy Saturdays’ are, I figured out a way to make Rhodey’s suit become Hello Kitty themed without him knowing. What do you say?” 

The sixteen-year-old immediately became wide awake despite the yawn exclaiming, “What are you waiting for?” The older man chuckled as he pulled the sleepy sixteen-year-old on his lap, “You can sleep against me, the stool isn’t good for your back.” Peter wasn’t going to complain, he cherished every moment curled up against his dad, he thrived on positive touch. 

Fast forward three more hours and War Machine’s suit now had a feature that turned him into Hello Kitty Machine. Peter couldn’t stop snickering at the idea of Rhodey making some badass comment and then his suit turns pink, white, and red while playing “Hello kitty, hello kitty” over on a constant loop until he says, “Iron Man is better than War Machine” three times. 

After they were done, Tony carried Peter up the stairs to cook up some breakfast. Peter spoke while the two quietly ate their waffles, “Dad? Is it okay if I go over to Ned’s later? He got a new lego set, ten thousand pieces!” Tony chuckled nodding, “Alright, you two Star Wars nerds can commerce. You want Happy to drive you?” Peter shook his head, “Nah, I’ll walk, I don’t want to be a burden on him.” Tony shook his head giving Peter a serious look, “Peter, you aren’t a burden. You never have, and you never will. We all love you, whoever has been planting these thoughts in your head is going to get their butt kicked by Iron Man and Hello Kitty Machine.” Peter snickered at the visual concept.

Little did Peter know that by not taking Happy, he was making one of the worst mistakes of his life. 

Peter threw on a pun t-shirt and a pair of jeans calling out to his dad as he slid on his shoes, “I’m going to Ned’s now. FRI, make sure you let Dad know.” FRIDAY let out a hum in response as Peter walked to Ned’s house. 

Peter had his earbuds in humming a tune when his spidey senses began to tingle. He removed on earbud as he glanced around but nothing looked suspicious. He put the earbud back in continuing to walk the halfway left. 

He was another block closer when something sharp jabbed him and the next thing Peter knew there was so much darkness. 

Peter’s eyes fluttered open as he slowly regained consciousness. The music in his ears was gone leaving with him with an unwelcome silence. And why was he lying down? He tried to get up, but something was tightly wrapped around his wrists and ankles effectively keeping him restrained. 

Peter was about to ask what the hell was happening because this was definitely not Ned’s house when a man he had never seen in his entire before walked in with an unsettling smile across his face. 

The man was wearing ordinary clothes and didn’t look threatening in any shape, way, or form. Peter mustered a cold look asking, “Who are you?” He hoped he sounded brave, because as sheltered and protected as he was, he had never been kidnapped before. As ironic as it sounds, Tony made sure that no supervillains could get their hold on the one thing he’d kill for without a heartbeat. 

The man only spoke in a kind-hearted voice, “Peter Stark. Age 16. Goes to Midtown High. Best friends are Ned Leeds, and Michelle Jones. Only living parent Tony Stark.” He spat the last two words on Peter’s face causing him to flinch. Peter nervously chuckled, “Sorry sir, but I can’t help you.” Then the man’s eyes darkened. “Oh, you will, you’ll see.” The man continued walking over to a table with a bunch of tools that Peter didn’t understand what they were for, and honestly, they looked pretty terrifying for him speaking, “As much as I love to chitchat, I do believe that’s bedtime for you Stark.” 

Peter tried to escape the restraints as the man brought over a needle that was far too big for his liking, triggering his phobia of needles only for the man to grab his arm and keep it still as he brought the needle to his shoulder. Damn, he was stronger than he looked. 

Peter tried to fight the darkness that was threatening to consume him, but his body slowly caved in, and the next thing he knew he had returned to a dark abyss. 

When Peter woke, the man that had kidnapped him was sitting in a chair with a pleased expression. He feigned concern, “Oh good, for a second I thought that I gave you too high of a dose for your spider abilities.” Peter’s blood went cold, “What are you talking about?” 

The man shook his hand and Peter never wanted to recoil out of disgust more in his entire life, as he introduced, “Hello Spiderman, I’m Quentin Beck.” Peter’s mouth opened but no words came out, “How?” 

Beck replied, “I used to work for your father Peter. I put all the pieces together. Why else would Iron Man and Spiderman be so close? Tony tried to keep you away from the press, but I cracked the code. Found a few other ex-Stark employees that he  _ fired _ .” 

Peter spat, “So this is what it’s about? Revenge? Classic villain ploy.” Beck spoke, “NO! I created technology that made illusions to the user’s will. And what did Stark do? He claimed the invention as his own, fired me for ‘being unstable’ and left me!” 

Peter spoke, “Yeah I’m guessing he was right, because that doesn’t entitle you to kidnap his son.” Beck sneered, “Think you’re such a smart mouth don’t you?” 

Peter didn’t see the blade, he could only feel his spidey senses continuously blare and something sharp pierce his side. 

_ Ouch. That hurts. Like a buttcheek on a stick. Hah. Oww. That really does hurt.  _

Peter bit back a scream as he looked down at his side, eyes widening at the sight of a blade inside his chest. And then the lights went out. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Slight description of torture

When Peter’s eyes painfully fluttered open, he found himself in the exact same position as yesterday, cold, limo body against the cold metal table and unbearably tight restraints over his wrists from ankles that stung even if he didn’t move. He darted looking right and left and only then he felt a cold, hard thing around his neck. Peter’s blood went cold and his body stilled as he slowly looked down and doing his very best not to panic when he saw a  _ collar _ on his neck. 

  
  


He struggled against the restraints trying to get out of them, grunting, whimpering, groaning in frustration when all of his efforts were futile and he was just stuck in this place far from home and he didn’t have his Dad, who probably didn’t even realize that he was missing! He leaned his head back trying to remember a tactic his Dad had taught him when he’s on the verge of having a panic attack. He inhaled for four seconds, held it for seven, and painfully slowly exhaled for eight counts. He repeated this ten times and that was when the cold words of Quentin Beck spoke, “Comfy there Peter?”

Peter had so many smart-ass things he could have said right there, but he noticed the evil glint in his kidnapper's eye and didn’t want to land himself in something he’d only regret later. He craned his head upwards to see Beck sitting on a chair with a small tray of things, that Peter couldn’t exactly make out. He focused back on Beck, the pleasant, innocent look was long gone, features heavily contorted in anger as fury overcame his expression. Peter felt the fear along with the dreaded anxiety spiral back to life as he nervously called out, “Beck? Everything okay?” He didn’t do anything so he had no clue what on Earth was happening, but he felt so damn scared. Beck only remained silent as he gingerly lifted a blade with white knuckles screaming from abuse and forced it into Peter’s flesh and didn’t react at all when Peter screamed and gasped with jagged breath, pleading for him to stop. 

Instead, Beck did the complete opposite. 

The blade was once again lifted, this time high enough for Peter to nervously watch, and just as he was about to open his mouth and plead otherwise, the blade was sunk deep against his bone, shredding tissue along with tendons as Beck dragged the blade against Peter’s tender skin, not even flinching at the trickling blood, face only betraying an evil smirk stretched upon thin, pink lips. 

After five more torturous minutes of immense pain, Beck sharply pulled the blade out letting a strangled yelp escape Peter’s lips as the blade was cascaded to the side. He walked away for a couple seconds and returned with a hand clasping an even sharper blade that easily pierced his cream-colored flesh and he bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood out and the metallic taste flooding his mouth. 

The blade was quickly retracted out of his flesh leaving a scream echoing in the dark room as Peter’s eyes clenching shut only wanting his Dad to come and rescue him, hold him, and tell him that it was okay. Or that this was all a horrible nightmare and all he had to do was wake up. He just wanted to be in his Dad’s arms, warm, cozy, and most importantly, safe. He couldn’t think of a place more safer. 

But that safe place was far away, how far Peter didn’t know but here he was at his most vulnerable and he couldn’t do a damn thing. He kept his mouth shut, not wanting to land himself in more trouble eyes flickering in worry, dark spots threatening to consume him. 

The man, Beck, he remembered opened his mouth, “Oh? Has Daddy’s little boy never been kidnapped before?” Peter didn’t answer or dare move a muscle. Beck snarled smacking him straight across the face, “Answer me, boy, when I talk to you!” Peter whimpered as his face stung from the smack replying, “No, no, just stop! Please!” Beck made a tsking sound mocking him, “No, just stop! Please!” He scoffed, “What a baby!” Another smack. Peter felt like sobbing. He advanced towards Peter, getting all up in his face, “You will die here Peter Stark, whether it be today, tomorrow, next week, or six months from now, you will die here. Understand?”

Peter, too terrified to even speak nodded back.

He shrank back when Beck picked up a strange tool that looked a lot like a wrench or a screwdriver and positioned it an inch over his wrists. Peter was breathing hard and wouldn’t be surprised if he had an anxiety attack right then and there. Peter could practically feel the bubble of anxiety get bigger and bigger as Beck twisted the blade deeper against Peter’s bone, and all he could was helplessly watch the blood seep against the blade and bit back a scream. 

He twisted under Beck’s hold, trying to get away from Beck, away from this creepy room, and just run away, somewhere, anywhere. He needed his Dad, he needed help, not here. 

His vision began to sway, and he heaved for breath, only to be met with the burning feeling of bile crawling up his throat. His body trembled, and his hands felt cold and clammy, and he leaned over and threw up. 

The sweat that was plastered to his head only trickled down his face, and in no way, shape, or form did Beck try to console the teenager, not that it would have done anything. He lurched forward, body slamming against the restraints that prevented him from falling into the puddle of his vomit. 

Beck merely cringed at the sight rolling his eyes mumbling, “How pathetic are you?” Peter bit back a few words he  _ really _ wanted to say, but were it not for the agonizing pain that shot through him and how sick he felt, he merely passed out. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deeply apologize for the inactivity, high school thingz am I right? Also, I'm not very proud of this chapter, because it's half-rushed. I started the beginning half last week and hadn't touched the rest of until today, so please don't be so disappointed in, I promise the rest of the upcoming chapters will be much better. 
> 
> TW: panic attack

Maybe this was all a dream. A really, bad, horrible dream. A dream where he’d wake up and be in the loving, caring arms of his Dad, who’d gently stroke his curls, hold him close, and tell him that he loved him, so, so much. Peter is unsure of how long he’s been here with Beck, but it feels way too long. 

He wants to be safe, in his warm bed, snuggled against his Dad’s side, with the familiar hue of blue dancing across his eyes, reminding him that he’s safe and sound. He’s home. 

He wants to go home. 

But he’s so far, too far, from home. 

_ Peter feels the hyperventilating heaving crawl up his throat, before he finds himself heaving for breath. He struggles against the cold, metal restraints that dig into his wrists, weak whimpers and groans spill through his dry, chapped lips. His curls are plastered with sweat and fall loosely over his eyes, clouding his vision. He feels so itchy, and he can’t itch the itch. He’s starving, and he looks so pale, he doesn’t even recognize that the hand that is attached to his body, is his. The trickling blood creates a wet, metallic stench that makes Peter want to throw up.  _

_ Tears form and roll down his grime-ridded cheeks. Peter moves to wipe the tears that clean the specks of dirt on his face, but is harshly remembered with the stinging sensation of spikes protruding against his weak blood vessels.  _

_ Another whine fills the room as Peter hangs his head forward, clenching his eyes shut. He can’t do this. It’s all too much, he can’t do this!  _

_ Burning white pain explodes through him as flesh harshly makes its mark on Peter’s thin face and can’t help the quivering of his lip, as he harshly sucks in a breath, wanting it to be over. Home. The word rolls off in a weird way in his head, the word sounds so distant, but he knows, it’s there.  _

_ He’s not even sure what’s rooting all of this, but he needs it to stop.  _

_ He’s screaming incoherent phrases, and he doesn’t give a crap whether or not Beck can hear him.  _

_ Everything stops and stills when Beck brought out a needle.  _

_ The panic floods through Peter’s body as he shakes and fidgets, trying to do everything in his power to get the hell out. He’s always hated needles, and most likely will for the rest of eternity. Hasn’t he been tortured enough?  _

_ Beck, as usual, pays no heed to his pleas of mercy, and sharply impales the needle into his flesh, earning a guttural scream that echoes against miles.  _

_ The effect was instantaneous, Peter felt dizzy and sick and his head was pounding him worse than a sensory overload.  _

_ Peter felt his body seize up and tremble and the next thing Peter knew, was darkness.  _

That was the last memory that Peter could make sense off when his eyelids fluttered open to find the awful needle still innocently stuck in his arm, pumping some transparent liquid in him, that made him feel really weak. He forced his arm to move, and bit down on his lip so hard that he drew blood at the agonizing pain that shot through his body. 

All he wanted was to go home, was it really too much to ask for?    
  


He forced his fingers to stretch, and even that sent Peter screaming into the empty of the night. 

He began to pant heavily as tears trickled down his pale cream-colored face. He tried to be brave and strong like his Dad would have been, but he never felt more alone and scared before, he wanted someone, anyone, to bust down the door and take him anywhere that wasn’t here. 

He’s grown to hate this small, dark room that’s served as a prison where he feels extremely claustrophobic and an overwhelming amount of fear that makes him wish he was dead than rather stay here. 

He cranes his sweaty head to the right, watching the door that separates him from the rest of his prison, praying that anyone other than Beck will walk through the door and take him away from this scary hellhole. 

He begins to whisper quietly, “God, please don’t let me die here. God, please, get me out of here. God, please take me home back to Dad, Uncle Rhodey, Ned, and MJ. Tell Dad I love him so much, and to please find me, or send him a message, he’ll figure it out, he always does. Don’t let Ned blame himself for Beck taking me, it’s not his fault we wanted to be good students and get ahead on our History project. I never got the chance to tell MJ how I felt about her, and tell Uncle Rhodey I miss his puns and his warm hugs. God, please don’t let me die alone, at least not here in this creepy and scary place that I don’t even know geographically on the map.” 

He weakly calls out, “Beck! Let me out of here! Let me out!” His cries pick up again as he softly sobs to himself, slightly banging his head against the table that holds him captive. He has to get out of here, think of something, but with all the stuff Beck’s done to him, he’s so weak. 

Peter has to admit, Beck knows what he’s doing. The penetration of objects piercing his skin only hurts and more and more, and only hurts worse each and every time. 

He calls out to Beck in a slightly louder tone, and sinks his head back down where more salty droplets race each other to the floor quicker. Peter watches sadly as the left one plops to the floor first, and the right one milliseconds after. It’s not fair that he’s here, strapped to a table and hasn’t eaten in God knows how long, and feels like a shell of himself and everyone else gets to continue with their day to day life. 

He’s just left alone with his mind right now, which seems more dangerous than being with Beck. 

Are people even looking for him?

Surely they must be, his Dad wouldn’t willingly abandon him, he loved him. He had a lot of people who loved him. Like Uncle Rhodey, the rest of the Avengers, and his best friends Ned and MJ. They’re out there searching for him, he knows. He’s sure that they miss him, and are doing everything within their infinite power to do so. 

But he can’t help a small black thought form and tell him that maybe they’re not looking for him. Maybe his family doesn’t care about him, and are happy that he’s gone. Happy that he’s no longer in the picture. 

Peter shakes his head ever so gently, arguing back that someone out there is searching for him. 

He mentally quips, maybe it’s his principal. A dawning realization overcomes Peter, he hasn’t been to school! He missed out on his projects, tests, quizzes, and homework! How many days has it even been since he was taken? A week? A month?

Multiple thoughts began to spiral into Peter’s head and all Peter can helplessly do is let the panic itch through his arteries throughout his body as he suddenly becomes very sweaty and can’t control himself anymore. 

That’s when he realizes: he’s having a panic attack.

And there’s no one there to help him out of it. 

He feels his breath become sharp and jaggy and he swears that he’s losing his mind. He’s inhaling too much, and exhaling too little, he yells out, “BECK!”

He’s met with no reply, and a bouncing darkness. 

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: For electrocution. 
> 
> Yeah, Peter is getting tortured heavily in this fic, in case you haven't already picked up on this by now. Stay safe!

Peter tries to fight the darkness that threatens to consume it, because he’s afraid of what lingers behind the shadows. He can’t bear the nightmares anymore, he can’t do this! He wheezes an inhumane sound that he can only assume to be a panicked cough and tries to fight against the restraints, knowing full well it’s a losing battle, but can’t help the attempt to free himself. 

He harshly smacks himself against the metal, accidentally giving himself a concussion, which sends him into the darkness that he had been avoiding. 

It’s the same dream that he had yesterday, and all the days before yesterday.

_ Peter’s snuggled against his Dad who softly strokes his head, running his fingers through his extremely stubborn curls as the two curl right into each other like pieces of a puzzle. Tony presses a kiss onto Peter’s forehead and whispers gently, “Goodnight sweetheart.” _

_ Peter wears a weary smile as he closes his eyes into what he expects to be a normal fit of sleep, either dreamless, or a dream that’ll leave him with theories he’d find on Buzzfeed. To his surprise, his dream is a consistency of white that leaves him paralyzed in fear. He opens his mouth to make a sound, yet no sound escapes his lips.  _

_ His eyes are still closed for some reason, and can’t open them willingly. But when he does, he's strapped to a table and heavily donned in restraints and a multitude of metal blades embedded in him.  _

_ He looks up confused, even more so when Beck wears a twisted smirk and fiddled with the sharpest knife Peter has ever seen in his entire life. And that's saying something from someone who has seen the entire weaponry of Natasha Romanoff.  _

_ Beck merely chuckles at Peter's confusion and distress, speaking, "You're so naive Peter. You think people care about you?" A moment of silence lingers when it is broken with a snort escaping his thin, crimson lips, "You're so unbelievably wrong, Stark. It's pathetic."  _

_ Peter's eyes widen in horror as he realizes what Beck intends to do before it's too late. Beck lifts the blade a mere inch above his fast-beating heart and with a swift motion, sends the blade cascading into his heart, all the way through him to the point where he could feel the blade poking out the back of his shirt.  _

_ Peter lets out a cry as he feels his heart tear apart as he cries out for his Dad to save him, but is left with darkness.  _

When Peter does wake up, he's greeted by muffled light and a thin cloth covering his eyes and tied behind the back of his head. He tries to lift his head up, but the rough force of a hand that he assumes to be Beck pushes him back down speaking in a voice that sounded far too innocent to match his cruel intentions, “Lay down Peter, you wouldn’t want to make this more difficult than this already has to be.”

Peter freezes as his blood runs cold, what the hell is that supposed to mean? He feels Beck’s hands roam all over him, and clip weird objects to his skin and Peter feels dirty once Beck finally removes his hands off of him. Peter speaks softly, “Beck, you don’t have to do this, please, I’m sure there’s something else I could do.”

Beck chuckles causing Peter to cringe, “Hush little Peter, this won’t hurt a bit.” That’s clearly a lie because all Beck has done to him was hurt him. So it’s only half a surprise when Peter hears a cranking sound and feels something sharp sting his body and travel through his entire body, setting it on fire as his chest heaves forward, and his breathing stops for a moment. 

His chest sinks back down as he heavily pants. It takes him a few moments to process just what had happened to him. He had gotten electrocuted. It takes him a few moments for him to process that he had just gotten  _ electrocuted _ when his breathing rate increases, and his spine twitches as his lungs won’t cooperate with him, and he can practically feel his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, god, he’s utterly terrified. 

His panic is short-lived because he hears the eerie sound of a lever and Peter feels his fear seize, along with his chest as his lips release an estranged cry that sounds more animalistic than human as he breathes heavily, body shaking so hard that Peter’s vision doubles, and even Beck is waiting for him to calm down and hopefully not fall into cardiac arrest. 

Peter feels the blindfold restrict him, and he needs to see, feel, calm himself down using the tactics his dad taught him, and all he can feel is  _ restriction _ and his head spinning along to his swaying body, and he begins to think he’s no longer human. He doesn’t realize that he’s whispering for mercy from Beck for him to stop, he’ll do anything  _ just please stop.  _

Another jolt of unwelcome electricity leaves Peter crying as he screams for his dad to save him. A lone tears slip out under the blindfold, and Peter feels the watery substance prick each of his nerves that leave him with a heavy urge to itch all over. 

Beck chuckles, “Oh, Peter. Poor, naive, Peter. No one is coming to rescue you, don’t you get it? You are going to die  _ here,  _ all alone in  _ this _ cell. Do you understand me?” Peter remains silent until a harsh smack leaves his skin stinging and replies, “Yes.” 

Beck snorts in disgust, bringing another smack onto Peter’s face continuing the disgusted tone, “Yes,  _ sir _ .” 

Whatever game Beck’s playing at is continued, a greater jolt of electricity is forced through Peter’s veins as the electricity crawls and leaves long trails of scars that interlude with the metal scars as Peter lets out another heart-wrenching scream. 

He feels his body seize, and this time there’s no electricity causing it, only his body weak from fatigue and fear consuming his adrenaline, and the next thing Peter knows, he’s back in the scary darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was dark.


	5. Chapter 5

When Peter’s eyes fluttered awake, it's not from another bad dream that has him on the verge of tearing a scream out of his throat, or something harshly impaling him, or the darkness from the blindfold, in fact, his blindfold is gone. His eyes fluttered open to find himself in a different room than the one he's been held captive in and the first thing he feels is his teeth chattering and his body trembling so hard that his vision itself blurs. 

He craned his head, finding that he can move his body, which is a much welcome relief from the continuous restraints. Peter shivered again, this time not from the cold biting into him, but the stiff feeling of the metal collar he grew to loathe rest against his pale, grime-riddled skin. He choked out a gasp as his swallow gets caught in his trachea, forcing him to wince as he coughs and splutters, and doesn't have the energy to panic as red droplets spray out of his mouth and onto the grey tiling. 

He’s too weak to freak out, his body feels exhausted from malnutrition and crashed from a lack of adrenaline to keep him coming. He has no clue how long he’s been here, but he’s beginning to think that Beck was right, that no one was going to come for him. His eyes seem to sting when they produce tears, and only a single tear manages to trail down goosebumped, red skin as Peter accepts his fate. 

He doesn’t want to die like this, but he doesn’t write his own book. He used to think that destiny was in the hands of the ones who lived, the ones who fought and prevailed for justice, not by sick psychopaths who deserve something worse then Death, because that would be a shortcut out of the pain that they should endure, because they have inflicted so much on god knows how many. 

It’s only then when Peter realizes that his teeth are chattering and he feels chills wrack his body. He weakly looked up to find a multitude of giant air conditioners at full blast. Peter feels a surge of panic flow through him, his powers make him sensitive to cold temperatures, something about triggering hibernation. But he’s part spider. 

Peter asks confused, “Spiders hibernate? Then why the hell do I see them in the winter?” Peter chuckles, finding his sentence funny, “ _ Oh god, I’m losing my mind.”  _ He remains laughing at the idiocy of it all, he’s near the end of his line, and he’s questioning if spiders hibernate. 

Peter hears the sound of a lever being switched, and he swore he saw snow enter the room.  _ But we’re inside, it doesn’t snow inside rooms, c’mon you haven’t lost that many brain cells, at least not yet. Maybe there’s a window? Maybe you could escape? Yeah, if you could feel your damn toes that maybe. That’s a fair point _ . He moans as snow breezes through a window that Peter can’t see and hit him right on his face, causing Peter’s cheeks to tint a bright pink as he shivers, eyes scouring for some sort of blanket to preserve some warmth. He looked around the room, only to have his stomach flood with dread when he finds the room bare except for his presence. 

He’s just so cold, and he knows that Beck enjoys watching the helplessness show through as he merely lies down there and sobs. 

Peter merely sighs, unable to muster the energy to try and fight against the cold that threatens to overtake him, pressing his unusually thinner form against the wall, and letting his eyes flutter shut. 

....

When Peter does wake up, however, he feels clean for some sort of reason. The very next second, something floods his nose and mouth and he can’t breathe. He tries to lift his head up to access the oxygen he knows is up there, but a cold hand presses down on his head further, and Peter cringes as his face is squished against the container of water. His lungs feel like they’re on fire as water spews into his airways and his muscles scream for oxygen and all he can do is helplessly wait for Beck to show some mercy. 

The agonizing burning of his body is let out for a few seconds when Beck eventually lifts Peter’s head up just enough for one breath and then shoves Peter’s head back into the bucket, ignoring the way Peter lets out choked gasps as water only continues to pour into the poor boy’s lungs. 

Beck merely chuckles as Peter’s head bobs up and down in the water, trying to get Beck to release his hold on his head but Beck ignores Peter’s feeble attempts and instead pushes down harder, enjoying the way Peter’s body trembled and squirmed. 

This time, he waits ten minutes which feels like an eternity to lift Peter’s head up for just enough time for Peter to wheeze out, “Beck, please!” and dunk his head back under into the bucket. 

The cold water makes Peter’s skin jolt, reminding him of the electricity that happened some number of days ago, making Peter panic as he finds himself back in that awful position and the pressure on his lungs increase because he needs oxygen to fend off the incoming panic attack, but at the same time his lungs are being forced with an overwhelming amount of cold water and  _ it burns so much. _

Peter chokes as the water seeps deeper and deeper into his lungs and it makes his chest feel odd and wet in a really uncomfortable way. His throat gags, and tries to spit out the water but every time he opens his mouth, a jet of water flows right through his gag reflex, causing Peter’s stomach to churn violently. 

His hands fall limp at his side, still shaking as unbearably cold air makes his entire form shudder as he mentally pleads for Beck to lift him up and let him breathe. By some miracle, it happens. 

The moment he feels Beck let go of him, he backs up as far away from him against the wall and hugs his knees, making himself as small as possible. Maybe if he gets himself small enough he’ll disappear. 

He hears the thudding footsteps of Beck approaching him and Peter can’t help the low whine that escapes his lips as Beck sits in front of him with a snarl of disgust. Peter refuses to meet Beck’s dangerously-lit eyes as he speaks softly, “Why won’t you leave me alone?” Beck speaks in a soft voice that mimics one an adult would use when explaining a concept to a child, “Because you Peter, are the only piece of leverage I can come close to getting revenge against Tony Stark. I told you, I would do anything to make Tony Stark suffer, and at first, I was just going to kill you, but I’d rather die knowing that Tony Stark will try to put whatever pieces left of you together after the things I am going to do to you. Wouldn’t you agree? It’s far more enthusiastic for the audience, knowing that they’re getting a whole presentation of the suffering of the Starks. Stark made me suffer, so why not do the same?”

Peter speaks in a tone that’s just above a whisper, “What did my dad ever do to you?”

Beck darkly chuckles, “I used to work for your father’s company and I had come up with using technology to recreate anything, past, memories, you code it, it’ll make it, but your father, fired me and took my invention as his own, even had the audacity to rename it to something as stupid as BARF. He ruined my chance to become something more than I was, he ruined my life. So now I’m going to ruin his.”

Peter spoke quietly, “Well, there’s got to be a reason why he fired you, don’t you think? Psycho.”

Beck’s voice became sharp, “Watch your tone boy, I’ll put you back in that bucket if I have to.”

Peter’s voice became angry, “Screw you Beck, all you’ve done is hurt me more and more, why won’t you just kill me already?” 

Peter froze, realizing just what he had said and clamped a hand over his mouth and began to ramble, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, please don’t put me back in the water, please, I’m sorry.” He watches fearfully as Beck ponders with an amused smile on his face. Peter gulps at the fact that that sick bastard enjoys watching him squirm in pain. 

Minutes that resemble an eternity pass and Beck gives the verdict, “Since you apologized, I won’t punish you that severely.”

The next thing Peter knows, he’s back in the dangerous darkness. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Electrocution

Peter tried to fight the darkness that threatened to consume him, wanting nothing more than to get the hell away from Beck, but found his eyes fluttering open every few moments to reveal himself back in the same hellhole for God knows how long. 

Peter didn’t even realize Beck was choking him until he felt a strangled pressure form on his neck as he began to cough and splutter, and the next thing he knew, it suddenly became incredibly hard to think. 

Peter weakly called out, “Please, stop.” 

Beck merely chuckled, eyes flickering dangerously as he replied, “Peter, I’m disappointed, you don’t know me by now? Every time you try to harass me, I will hurt you. Luckily, this was the first time that you were rude to me, so I’ll let it slide, just this once of course.” 

Peter felt himself suffocating, and for a good few seconds think that this is it, this is the end, when the hand that was tightened around his slim neck suddenly removes itself, leaving a terrified Peter to fall onto the floor. 

The instant stream of oxygen that surges through his blood vessels is well welcomed as Peter heavily pants, and cast his eyes down to not anger Beck any further. Beck bent down, extending a firm finger under Peter’s chin, forcing the wrecked teenager to look into his eyes, “That Peter, was only a taste of what would happen should you talk to me like that ever again. Understand?”

Peter resisted the urge to scratch the area behind the metal where Beck’s fingerprints linger replying, “Yes.”

Beck cocked a brow, raising a hand causing Peter to flinch. And to remember. 

“ _ Yes, sir. _ ”

Beck chuckled, “There it is. Now onto the rest of the day’s activities.”

Peter’s face falls into an expression one would find on a kicked puppy, he sighed, wishing that he would be left alone. He’d take anything over this, hell he was ready to jump headfirst into death if it meant that he’d never see Beck ever again. Speaking of death, he wasn’t sure how long he could take it here, his body was weak, metabolism useless, and if anything, advancing him further to meeting his maker. 

A harsh slap that left his grime-riddled skin brought him back from his daydreaming, forcing a small gasp to escape Peter’s thin pink lips as he craned his head up to look at a sinister smirk on the face of Quentin Beck. 

Beck makes no sound, instead, striking Peter again, hard enough that it sends Peter’s small frame slamming against the wall where he was cowering. Peter made no move, too captivated in fear as Beck knelt down to his level, and punched Peter straight in the gut, not once or twice, but what Peter counted to be at least ten times. A grunt escaped Peter’s mouth each time Beck’s fists came into contact with Peter’s flesh, and Peter swore he saw blood pool around him, shutting his eyes tightly as he waited for the torture to be over. 

The torture was deemed over after three hours of Beck using Peter as a punching bag, leaving the teen slumped near unconsiousness in a puddle of his own cherry-colored blood. Beck is half-way out the door when he turned around speaking, “Peter, if you try and fall asleep, I will electrocute you, understand?” 

Peter’s too weak and tired to even process Beck’s threat, as he the room in front of him begun to spin. His arms are littered with bruises and probably infected cuts that he can thank his super healing for, but that still didn’t take away the pain in his bones from the metal harshly cutting along it. His toes feel abnormally dry and dirty, as if he walked through a puddle of mud and his soles still spill flakes of scarlet liquid every time he attempted to force weight onto them. 

His eyes bore straight ahead into an empty vastness, contemplating what he should do next. 

_ Try and escape? _

_ Yeah and get choked to death, I don’t think so.  _

_ But death is better than spending one more minute with Beck.  _

_ Surely someone’s looking for you Peter, someone has to be. Dad wouldn’t let you die like this. _

_ Bold of you to assume that Dad would let you die. _

_ I’m scared, Peter.  _

_ I know. _

His thoughts continued in circles, debating whether or not someone would eventually turn up looking for him, or if he should try and evade Beck’s clutches. He had no power, he was completely at Beck’s mercy, and he hated it. 

His eyes flickered shut for a few moments, and he found himself smiling under the rays of the sun as he walked next to Ned, who was trying to lick a Spiderman ice cream that was half-melted. 

_ Peter chuckled as Ned brought the ice cream to his lips and bit down on the area of the mask’s chin, “You really had to right? Out of all the ice cream selections, you picked Spiderman? I don’t know if I should be flattered, or be freaked out by the way you’re licking me.”  _

_ Ned chuckled, “Well Peter, I got to show my support for my favorite friendly neighborhood vigilante-slash-Avenger. Besides, it tastes better than your Spongebob one.” _

_ Peter’s face mocked betrayal, “Where I’m from, Spongebob is the superiorist of everyone else. Except for Patrick, Patrick’s my role model.”  _

_ Ned rolled his eyes laughing, “Isn’t he everyone’s? What project are you and your dad working on now?” _

_ Peter bit into his ice cream replying, “Well, I’m trying to convince Dad to remove Instant Kill Mode. I’m fifteen, what the hell am I going to need that for? I stand up for the little guy, and the occasional sadistic attempt of multidimensional domination. Y’know, fun stuff.  _

_ Ned rolled his eyes, “Only you would find the 2018 invasion fun. At least the Avengers were able to beat Thanos together. Imagine if you guys were separated, we might have lost.” _

_ Peter nodded solemnly, “Imagine Thanos winning? And half of the entire universe’s population turning to ash? That’d be traumatic.” _

Peter jolted from his memory as static raced through his veins causing his body to seize. The itching feeling left as quickly as it came, leaving Peter panting for breath. He rubbed the bags under his eyes, which he could feel all the way to his upper cheeks as he looked around wildly for a plausible explanation of what had just happened. 

Beck’s voice came out in a taunting warning, “I told you, Peter, if you fall asleep, I’ll be forced to shock you. That was just a warning dose, next time won’t be as bad. Sweet dreams.”

Peter didn’t bother from his position, too weak to get out of his blood-stained clothes and quite frankly, too scared to even move. 

He was scared to blink, because Beck might electrocute him again, and Peter didn’t want to be electrocuted. He hated the way jolts sizzled beneath his skin, like an itch that he just couldn’t scratch, and continued to only increase the more it was ignored. 

Peter wanted nothing more to shut his eyes closed and slip into a deep dark abyss where no one, not even Beck could hurt him. He didn’t feel safe in his dreams at all, but he didn’t have to consciously deal with a conscious Beck that was most likely scheming on what the next form of torture Peter would experience. 

A harsh stinging sensation rocketed through his body reminded him of what would happen if he let his eyes flutter closed for a moment longer than what was considered a blink. 

Peter groaned, this was going to be a  _ long  _ night. 

So while Beck was enjoying what would be one of his last drinks, a hunched Peter Stark who was hugging his knees tried to fight the sleepiness that he wanted to evade into, but the paralyzing fear of consequence kept him awake. 

He rocked himself back and forth, trying to think of anything except for how tired he was, but he had to strain his muscles to keep himself upright, or he would have passed out from exhaustion. 

Peter’s hold on his knees tightened as the air suddenly became more chilly, and he pressed his chattering teeth against his thighs, trying to generate heat through friction, but all that happened was the temperature decreased. 

Peter internally groaned, wishing he could pry the damn collar off him, but every attempt at doing so resulted in a yelp tearing from his dry, cracked lips. 

He leaned against the wall, and began to pick at his fingernails, his dry, blood-stained fingernails which had guilt riddling each crevice of his skin. Peter looked at his thin, frail hands in disgust, they were so dirty and thin, he looked around him, he looked like a freak. 

Beck’s words echoed in his mind, “ _ You’re nothing but a freak, Stark. And don’t you forget it.”  _

_ He harshly shoved Peter against the metal table that restrained him from the freedom that Peter desperately craved, “That’s your place, freak.” He raised a hand and smacked it against Peter’s cheek, and spat, “And that’s all you’ll ever be, you’re not worth the gum on my shoes.” He sent a fist covered in brass knuckles into Peter’s chest, face contorting into one of disgust, “You’re just a weakling, a pathetic, stupid weakling who is so worthless, that his own father and all his resources can’t find. I wonder, can’t find, or won’t bother looking for?” _

_ Peter mustered as much of a hateful glare he could muster, “That’s not true. I have somebody who cares about me, unlike you!” _

_ Beck sneered, “Oh, you want to be like that you disgusting brat? Well, I wonder who decides if you live or die tonight. Not God, certainly not Tony Stark, me. Have fun in the dark you quim.” Beck snapped the lights off, leaving a terrified Peter subject to the beatings Beck had in store for him.  _

A crackle of electricity danced across Peter’s already burnt, and bleeded-out skin, causing him to scream with a startle as his eyes worriedly darted around the room. He flinched, waiting for the voice of Beck to come over the speaker he must have somewhere lying around, but was met with mere silence. His stomach began to churn as Peter could feel his Spider Senses scream louder than it had in days. 

He forced his eyes to widen as he tried to stay alert, searching for some hidden threat he hadn’t picked up before, but found nothing. Peter shook his head and began to whisper to himself, “There’s nothing there Peter, you’re losing your mind. Breathe Peter, you’re going to have a panic attack if you don’t.” 

Peter’s glaze intensified trying to find what was making his senses go haywire, causing Peter to scream into the small, freezing room, “STOP PANICKING GOD DAMN IT!” Peter immediately burst into coughs from his aching throat that was more accustomed to screaming than whispering. 

And just like that, the most powerful jolt of electricity crackled against the metal that dug into Peter’s already burned skin as it shot through his nerves like the adrenaline he wished would’ve instead through his skin, tearing a wretched scream from his pale, bruised, bloodied lips as his heart seized and everything went dark. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TW: Gunshot and gasoline burning]

The last thing Peter felt was his heart seize as it began to skip beats. And then the terrifying darkness where the monsters lurked beneath. 

Peter felt like he was swimming in darkness, and he couldn’t evade the drowning feeling that made his lungs sink as his gut twitched. 

_ He felt like he was suffocating and he was only being pulled darker into the lurking forces. He hung in the interlude, unable to reach up, or will himself to sink further.  _

_ Peter screamed at himself-"Wake up!” _

_ Peter’s eyes were open, yet all he saw was the surrounding darkness.  _

_ He screamed louder, willing to return back to the unforgiving reality, “Wake up Peter!” _

_ He smacked his eyes with the palm of his hands as a frustrated groan escaped through his lips as he found himself doubting where he was and screamed, “WAKE UP PETER!” _

He was sure he was awake when his body jolted as a scream trailed away on his lips. Except, all he saw was the same, dangerous darkness. 

He peered around confused, this wasn’t the same room that he had spent the rest of his torture. So where the heck was he?

_ Was he dead? _

Peter shook his head, the idea seemed distant yet at the same time, disturbingly somewhat welcomed. Death would be his ticket out of whatever torture Beck still had awaiting for him. He wasn’t sure that he could continue like this, especially when no one was even coming for him. 

He dipped his head down as tears began to form in his eyes. He didn’t really accept his fate, but he didn’t really blame his family. He didn’t even know where the hell he was, and Beck seemed like he knew exactly how to cover his tracks. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was hidden in some place no one would even consider looking for, and then used as a guilt-trip once Beck showcased his dead body back to his family. 

Or maybe, it was that he was too annoying. Maybe his family was glad to be rid of him. His Dad would surely have more time for himself, and no longer have to worry about him, and Ned and MJ would carry out just fine in their lives. 

Maybe he’d be reunited with his mom, Pepper again. 

Shameful tears raced each other down blood-stained cheeks, he wasn’t ready to die. But if it meant peace with himself, he would be willing to take it. 

The sound of chains rattling brought an uneasiness about him. 

_ Am I in hell? _

His thoughts were immediately discarded when he heard the overly joyous voice of Quentin Beck blare, “Rise and shine Peter, because today, is your last day we spend together, so we’re going to make it count.”

Peter’s body went rigid as he tried to comprehend what Beck was implying. Was someone coming for him? He felt like letting out a whoop of relief, but a part of him remains grim, thinking that Beck had some sort of evil trick up his sleeve. 

He did. 

Peter forced himself to his feet, and immediately collapsed onto cold concrete, forcing him to bite down so hard to the point where he drew blood from his mouth and could feel the wet substance travel down his esophagus. He whispered tightly, “Fuck.”

Immediately a jolt of electricity shot through Peter’s neck causing him to squirm in pain as he clenched his lips shut, looking to ceiling for some sort of plausible explanation. His teeth were still chattering, and day by day he felt more dead inside, like his body was giving up, and his mind wasn’t far behind. 

Beck appeared crouched down next to him with a twisted smile and spoke, “Well Peter, I’ve received the unfortunate news that your father has found where I’ve been keeping you all these months. However, I’m a man of my word, and I did tell you that you would die here, in this room. And you will. And it will crush your father, knowing that he was just mere seconds from saving you, all for it to crumble in the dust.”

Peter blinked in horror as he saw the buckets of gasoline lined up against a wall and breathed out, “You’re crazy Beck, you’re sick.” 

Beck merely chuckled, “I don’t care Peter, but my mission’s finished. I’ve done what no one else could, see you in the afterlife, Peter. Goodbye Peter. Now shut your eyes, I’ve been told that gasoline burns the eyes but I don’t think I want to test it out myself.” 

He firmly tied Peter’s wrists to a pole behind him, and began to pour gasoline all over Peter’s thin and bloody frame, drenching Peter with the substance to the point where it glossed over his skin making Peter’s skin irritate in disgust. 

He watched in horror as Beck spilled gasoline all over the room leaving no inch spared until he pulled out a lighter and smirked as he looked into Peter’s terrified irises. He chuckled as Peter’s eyes widened as the fire spread across the substance, “Well Peter, I’ve hoped you enjoyed your stay here, toodles!”

He turned to walk away but then turned around with an evil smirk stretched over his lips as Peter heard what sounded eerily like the cocking of a gun, “But, there’s always the grand finale. A little something about presentation, if you ask me.”

Peter watched as a blurry Beck raised a gun to him and clenched his eyes shut and let out a low whine as he waited for everything to go dark as his heartbeat thudded so loud he was sure Beck could hear it.    
  
Just as he expected everything to be over, a yell flooded the room as a hard piece of metal tore through Peter’s side and lodged itself between some part of Peter. Peter started coughing as he opened his eyes to freeze as he noticed the gushing red pour out of his abdomen. 

Peter’s terrified eyes flickered back to Beck’s cold and emotionless ones as he turned around and walked out the door and closed, “Well Peter, it’s been fun while it lasted.”

Peter felt his heart lurch as the door clicked locked. 

His vision began to blur as nausea crept up his throat, causing him to break into a fit of hacks as the gasoline began to drip down his face, only increasing the nausea that he longed to finally get rid of. 

But he had another problem to worry about: the fire had begun to spread throughout the room, turning the floor into nothing more than flickering embers that reflected against the little of the light that was left in Peter’s eyes. The fire rampaged throughout the little room, incinerating everything its deadly claws raced out upon, claiming it’s mark with the nothingness of bare ashes. 

Peter thickly swallowed, wincing at the discomfort that rolled down with it: how long until he too was consumed by the flames?

He dipped his head back as he resisted the urge to itch all over hs irritated skin. He had learned plenty well what happened when he tried to fight the cuffs, they’d dig deeper into his already bleeding wrists. 

Peter didn’t think he had much blood left. A dry cough escaped even dryer lips. 

He let out a strained sound that he assumed was a wheeze as his lungs struggled to pull in the oxygen he desperately craved for. 

He let his body collapse against the pole he was tied down against too and let the tears well up in his eyes.

This really was it. 

He was going to die. 

He didn’t want to die like this, terrified out of his very mind. 

In all the time he had spent here, he didn’t really think he was going to die here, but Beck was right. The world didn’t want him anymore, otherwise, someone would’ve been here by now. 

Peter began to cry softly at the heart-breaking idea that his Dad really didn’t care, since he hadn’t found him yet.  _ Didn’t matter now, I’m going to be dead when he finds me, if he even does. _

A hiccup escaped his lip, and Peter moved to cover his mouth and cursed when his arms bent in an awkward position and the restraints tightened over his already thin wrists, squelching out more of Peter’s blood. 

The fire had spread, embers looming dangerously closer to him. They danced around him, almost mimicking his distress in his final hour. 

Peter slumped his shoulders and let the tears flow. Beck was gone, he couldn’t hurt him more than he already had. Death was merely the final ring to it. Peter knew it would come, but he didn’t want to believe it. 

How many more horrors did Beck have lined up for him before he decided to cut straight to the chase?

He grunted as he tried to free himself, sending a white burst of pain shooting through his limp form. He panted heavily, eyes leaking tears as they shut closed in a pathetic attempt to drown the pain out. 

But all Peter could feel was the everlasting pain. 

It was embedded well beyond in his muscles, mixed into the loneliness of his hollowed bones. 

The unforgiving flames sweltered closer to Peter, and that’s when he noticed that his legs were bent in a weird position.  _ Huh. Didn’t legs bend forward at the knee?  _ When Peter forced his cuffed hands over his knees, all he could feel was broken, jaggy bits. 

He stiffened and gulped, trying to remember when Beck broke his kneecaps?

He couldn’t remember. 

_ Great, a panic attack. Right as I’m about to die. Perfect. _

The flames inched towards him, as if they were making a laughingstock out of him

His confusion, and nausea only increased as the flames swiveled around him, like a fox marking out its prey. 

He rasped for breath, finding the air stale as the carbon-filled air clogged up his airways as he struggled to breathe. 

The last thing Peter saw was the fire catching onto his toes when everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was dark. Literally dudes. This fic is almost at its end damn.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait! At least it's here now, right?

Peter felt his body shut down into what he thought was his final breath as the darkness consumed him. 

He waited for seven minutes of his life to flash through Peter’s mind, reminding him of the privileges he got to live through, and all the things he wouldn’t get to live through ever again. 

He waited for the fateful questions to be asked by an all-knowing voice about who his God was, and what he believed in. 

Maybe he had already gotten it, and couldn’t remember due to the clogging of his airways from the damn gasoline that was so itchy. 

The last thing he felt, or continued to feel was a burning numbness as he waited to the mercy of God, whether or not his fate was already sealed. 

He felt the faint touch of hands roam him as he felt something incredibly soft force his back to sink into it as loud sounds and voices urged his senses to respond, do something, anything. 

He heard the panicked voice of his father, and he wanted to open his eyes and wake up, but there was too many things happening, and Peter couldn’t focus on anything as he was lulled back into the dark abyss. 

...

He heard a soft voice as calloused fingers ran over his dry ones speak, “Hey Peter, I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry that I couldn’t find you faster, I really missed you. I still do, the doctors say that you’ll wake up from your coma within a few days. I’m not going to leave your side, even when you wake up, I promise you. I’m never going to leave you ever again. I love you 3000.”    
  
His senses stimulated when a soft moist texture grazed his cold skin, and Peter wished he could smile as his Dad kissed his temple. He wanted to wake up, and spend the rest of his life snug in his Dad’s warm and comforting arms, the place that Peter always felt safe in, but his body was too tired, too pained to accommodate his wish. 

Peter tried to get his senses to move, even just the twitch of a finger, but there was something being pumped into him that kept him incredibly tired and lured him back to sleep. 

And it was the same routine for another week. 

His body refused to budge, but his brain was more alive than it had been in months. He could feel his Dad stay by his side, mentally chuckling as his Dad threatened to fight people if they continued to bother him, insisting that he was fine, and that, “no, Rhodey, I do not want to eat. Got it honeybear?” 

He liked it when his Dad would talk to him, even if it was about the most minor thing. It made Peter forget for a few moments about the pain that he was accustomed to, and the road to recovery he would have to face. He felt normal during those chats. 

Yesterday, Tony was talking about the team. He said that the team was relieved that he had been found, and that they were going to come over when Peter woke up. He also talked about each individual Avenger, making a joke that Natasha had threatened to stab nearly every SHIELD agent when they couldn’t trace him. His voice would die away as he sniffled, and Peter came to the gruesome inference that Tony was crying.  _ Tony never cried _ . He’d attempt to lighten up the atmosphere by talking about when he accidentally burned his breakfast some days ago and triggered the Tower’s fire protocols. 

The day before, it was about a dream he had, one where the team was fighting opposite versions of themselves, exact doppelgangers, but instead of fighting for the better of the world, they fought with malicious intents. Something about different Earths. 

Peter felt his strength slowly return, not enough to walk around, but just enough to get his body able to make basic movements. His eyes fluttered awake as he fuzzily examined his surroundings. The first thing his eyes picked up on was white bland walls, and an incredibly loud beeping sound, that was also extremely annoying. He felt something grip on his hand as he whispered quietly, “Dad?”

He watched Tony's eyes flood with tears as he nodded, still clasping his hand whisper softly, "Yeah buddy, it's Dad. Dad's here." Tony wanted to say that everything was going to be okay, but he would be lying to himself. That might be true in the future, but not now. Not when Peter had endured so much for nearly half a year. 

His Peter, his precious child who he'd take any number of bullets for any day, was hurt. Hurting, actually, because just because torture was in the past most definitely didn’t mean that there was no PTSD to come. 

Peter’s eyes flickered with terror as the room in front of him began to spin and rasped confused, “Dad, where am I? What’s, what’s going on?” He moved to get up but gave up at the sharp pain that shot through him forming a wince over his face. 

Doctors were rushing in and suddenly Peter felt overwhelmed by everything that was happening. There was too many sounds, too many things in front of him, and Peter couldn’t focus. He liked it simple, and quiet. 

Tony sensed the boy’s panic, rubbing a patch of skin on Peter’s wrist speaking just loud enough for Peter to ground himself onto his voice, “Pete, you’re okay, I promise. We’re at the medbay, remember? At Avengers Tower, home? You’re home bud.”

Home. The word felt distant to hear, as if it sounded fake. Suddenly too many hands for his liking were touching him and Peter grunted trying to shake the hands away, “No, j-just Dad.” The hands didn’t stop, but there was less than before. 

Peter winced as the hands continued to roam his body, muttering, “Dad, please make it stop.”

Tony gently carded Peter’s hair, turning the boy’s head to face his and smiled gently, exaggerating it to calm the kid down. He spoke softly as one hand rubbed Peter’s wrist, and the other played with his hair, “I know you’re in pain right now, but the doctors gotta do their thing to make it go away.”

Peter hazily replied, “‘t sucks. Hurts too much Dad. Can’t do it.” He tried to form full sentences to get his Dad to understand that he just wanted him, no one else but his lips felt tired and the gears in his brain weren’t working. He felt stuck and helpless, just like when he was with Beck. 

Tony saw the terror flick in his son’s eyes as he struggled to stay calm, sending the doctors a look to hurry up what they were doing or at least subdue him speaking softly to take Peter’s attention away from the needle, “I know it sucks bud, but after this, no more pain, alright? Just you and me alright? You can do it, I know you can, you’re already doing so good bud. Just a little bit longer.” 

He kept whispering soft reassurances as one of the doctors slid in a line into Peter’s right arm, injecting anesthesia into the boy’s arm, and the effect was instantaneous. Peter’s eyes fluttered closed as he tried to stay awake, not wanting to part from his Dad. He began to whisper frantically, hoarse voice making it sound more like a rasp, “Dad, I don’t want to go. ‘M scared, Dad.” 

Tony nodded understanding, fingers tugging on stubborn curls that hadn’t been brushed in months, “I know kiddo, but I’m gonna be right here when you wake up. Stark promise, close your bud.”

Peter whispered in an empty tone, “But that’s where the bad dreams come.”

And then Peter slipped into the darkness. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey dudes! Sorry about the long wait for an update! I'm hella stressed right now with so many midterms and projects it's not even funny.

The last thing Peter felt was numbness course through him as he tried to cling on to the delicate and safe touch of his dad when his eyes closed once again. 

He thought he would be safe in these depths, because he was safe now. No matter how much he didn’t feel like it, he was safe. He was millions of miles from Beck, or him. Just the mere thought of his torturer’s name was enough to make him feel queasy. 

He could practically feel the silver plunge into his already broken flesh, emitting the metallic sound that he hated, and he felt wet droplets of scarlet trickle down his flesh, reminding him of weak and vulnerable he was. Powerless. Exposed. 

He felt sick, in dire need to throw up but then he realized that he hadn’t had anything to eat since he had been kidnapped. Staying awake hurt. Sleeping hurt. There was nothing in the middle that kept both his brain and his body satisfied. It was almost as if he was rid of Beck, yet still trapped in hell. 

He wanted it to be over, the pain, trauma, all of it. But his body was in no condition to do so. He tried to keep track of how many times he was stabbed where but the nauseating number would become foggy after forty. 

The same plaguing nightmare returned once again, only this time he felt thick, sweaty hands squeeze around his throat as his lungs constricted and wavered for oxygen desperately, only to be met with nothing but a sharpening pain as electricity jostled from the steel collar that was fastened around Peter’s neck. 

_ His vision blurred into a haze and all he could see was Quentin Beck’s sinister face bore into his helpless one, as he weakly tugged on Beck’s arms, mentally pleading for the slightest form of mercy or to end it all, which one he had no clue.  _

_ Beck had the audacity to laugh as Peter weakly squirmed, trying to find an angle where oxygen could slip through the trachea but found none. He spoke thinly, “You really think you can escape the inevitable? I told you right from the very beginning Peter, you will die here.” _

He heard a gentle voice ground him, “Peter, wake up, you’re okay. Baby, you’re okay. It’s just a bad dream, I’ve got you.”

Peter bolted and his eyes bulged as they opened. Everything was spinning and Peter could taste the bile that was inching up his throat. He wheezed out, “No more tricks Beck! I know this isn’t real!” 

_ “I told you right from the beginning Peter, you will die here. It’s not hard to understand, especially with that intellect you’ve inherited.” _

Tony spoke in a careful tone, “No Peter, this is real, but you have to breathe. You’re okay, you’re safe, here, in my arms. That man can’t hurt you anymore. He’s dead.” 

Peter trembled, unsure who was lying, Tony or Beck. He croaked out as his eyelids clenched shut, “I, I don’t know!” Peter started sobbing as he smacked his hands against his eyes, “I don’t know!” His voice died away, as if he was signaling defeat, “How many more times do I have to tell you, I don’t know? Stop tricking me, I just want to go home!”

Tony nodded, holding back tears of his own as he gently clasped Peter’s hands and guided them away from his face where he could possibly hurt himself, “It’s okay if you don’t know, you’re home bud. You’re home. Home.”

Peter asked in a childish tone, “I’m home?”

Tony exaggerated a nod, “Yeah buddy.”

Peter asked cautiously, “How do I know this is real? What’s something only Dad knows for a fact?” 

Tony rubbed a patch of skin on Peter’s dry bruised thumb, running over the ridges, “You remember when Mom left us? You were still in your Spiderman suit crying because you blamed yourself. You kept crying because you thought it should’ve been you? Steve had to hold you back because he was scared you were going to hurt yourself. You wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even me. And then on our way home, you fell asleep in the car. Do you remember that? And then I picked you up and helped you change into a fresh set of clothes, and you asked me to cuddle with you? You remember that right? You were so scared to sleep by yourself, you wanted the light from the arc reactor remember? And I held you as you cried? None of us slept that night, remember?”

_ It was supposed to be him. Justin Hammer put a bounty on Pepper’s head, and a threat that he would kill her when Tony was most vulnerable. The Avengers couldn’t take any chances, especially Tony, so both her and Peter were restricted to the Tower and always accompanied by one of the Avengers who could more than able to defend themselves and get the Starks to safety if it came down to it.  _

_ But somehow, Justin Hammer’s plan worked. He set up a diversion, a (mechanical) monster that was terrorizing city streets and all six Avengers were called pronto. Sometime during the attempt to neutralize the threat, all the power went down. None of the Avengers could go and jack up the power grid, which would also aid in getting rid of the monster, so they were forced in calling on Pepper and Peter to handle that.  _

_ Peter took out all the mindless drones that stood in there way while Pepper got to work, clicking keys and switching handles. Little did they know that this was all part of Justin’s scheme. When Pepper turned around, her breath caught in her throat. A giant suit of armor towered over her, and was at least thirty feet tall. At the very top was Justin Hammer with a sick smile over his deranged features.  _

_ The robotic-human voice thundered, “Pepper, oh, this was all part of my plan to kill the thing that Tony Stark loves most in the world. It’s nothing personal to you, you’re just an expendable pawn. Hope you don’t mind that I have to, you know, smashy smash.” _

_ A pippy bold voice challenged, “Hey, Hammer. Why don’t you not hammer the lady, and we settle this like gentlemen?” _

_ Hammer rolled his eyes, “Spiderman, I’m not here for you right now. I’m trying to kill the only leverage over Tony Stark I have.” _

_ Pepper shook her head towards the mini-Avenger, pleading that Peter wouldn’t do what she knew he was going to do. He did.  _

_ He whipped off his mask and smirked, “Really? Or you could just kill his son.” He couldn’t let his mom die. His Dad would be so heartbroken if she died, the least he could do was try and fight him, and his mom could get to safety. Or get the other Avengers to help him out. _

_ Hammer turned around, intrigued. “Wait, Tony Stark has a secret child. Hm, this does change things? But how do I know that you’re not bluffing?” _

_ He turned to Pepper and raised a car above her, to suggest what he was going to do, “Is he your son?” _

_ Pepper said nothing as tears streamed down her face as she mentally pleaded for Peter to run, save himself. It would be okay if she died, but a world without Peter wasn’t one worth living for. Parents were supposed to make sacrifices for their children, not the other way around.  _

_ Hammer spat venomously, “Answer the question, Pepper. Is he your son?” He dropped the car behind her and a scream tore out of Pepper’s mouth.  _

_ Peter wore a begging frown as tears raced each other on grime-riddled skin, “Mama, it’s okay, trust me.” _

_ Pepper softly exhaled, “Yes, yes he is my son. But it’s me that you want.”  _

_ Hammer turned around back to Peter and began to attack him. The fight was hard and grueling. Hammer fought with the intention to kill, which was expected, obviously. Peter dodged getting crushed by a metal foot when a metal hand sent him flying against a building.  _

_ Hammer chortled, “I hate spiders. But one thing I hate more than spiders is Starks. And getting rid of the Stark legacy would save me some pain in my ass. You’ve made a fool decision boy.” _

_ Peter threw back, “You did first once you threatened my mother!” He threw a web towards Hammer’s face which only earned him an annoyed kick to the gut and sent him sprawling in a ditch. He coughed and immediately winced at the droplets of crimson liquid that sprayed out of his mouth.  _

_ Hammer had the audacity to chuckle as Peter slowly stood up, “Tired already? Want a quick, painless death?” _

_ Peter shook his head and raised his fists in front of him, “As Captain America says, I can do this all day.”  _

_ His muscles ached and he felt exhaustion cave in but he couldn’t give in. Stark men are iron, and they sure as hell don’t go down without a fight. The Spider-name bearer charged forth as flames danced from afar, trying to use his super strength to rip through the suit. It was ineffective as Hammer picked him up with a metal hand and cringed in disgust, “Ew, a bug.” _

_ Peter shook his head, “I’m an arachnid human. Get your facts right if you’re going to proclaim yourself a genius.” Hammer’s face contorted into one of anger and curled the hand that was holding Peter into a fist and squeezed down hard preventing even the slightest of movement. He slammed Peter down into the ground numerous times, not stopping at the sound of crunching bones.  _

_ He ignored Pepper’s screams as she tried to get the Avengers’ attention somehow, and only retreated once the teenager was sprawled in the ash and dust, with blood covering his face, and bruises littered every available inch of visible skin.  _

_ He turned to Pepper and chuckled, “For a Stark, he sure was a fool.” _

_ Pepper shook her head fearfully and began to back away, eventually breaking into a sprint. She didn’t get far when scattered building debris was thrown on top of her, and then everything went black.  _

_ Peter was unconscious through that, but Steve had seen the flying piece of building and raced to investigate it. His stomach dropped as he saw a bloodied unconscious Peter and gingerly lifted him up. The boy was mumbling strings of incoherent words but the only two phrases the Captain was able to make out were Hammer and Mama. And when he turned around, he saw the limp hand of a woman that couldn’t be anyone but Pepper Potts. He knew she was dead before the lack of a pulse confirmed it.  _

_ But he hoisted her up too, and ran back to the team and onto the medbay where Bruce began operating on Pepper to see if there was any chance she’d wake up to see tomorrow.  _

_ Peter was in the recovery room when he jostled awake and began to pant heavily. Steve guided him back down, “Breathe Peter. You’re okay, in and out.”  _

_ Peter frowned, “Where’s Mom?” If he was still alive, then where was she? Shouldn’t she be here, waking him up and letting him know that he would be okay? _

_ Steve wore sorrowed eyes and spoke softly, “Peter, I’m so sorry…” _

_ Peter interrupted Steve’s sentence shaking his head as tears sprang down bruised, aching skin, “No, no! It, it was supposed to be me.” He sucked in a breath through quivering lips as he told himself that he wasn’t going to cry when he melted into ugly sobs and buried his head in his hands.  _

_ Steve tried to calm Peter down, but all the kid could do was sob harder. Steve couldn’t blame the kid, but felt concern knob his throat as the kid whispered tightly, “It was supposed to be me.”  _

_ Eventually, he crawled into Steve’s lap as he wallowed in sobs and despair, needing someone to just hold him and make all the hurt go away. Steve wrapped his arms around the weeping boy, rubbing over his bruised cheek as he held his nephew close. He whispered softly, offering encouragement, “It’s all going to be okay Peter. I know, I know. It’s going to be okay.” _

_ Peter shook his head, “No, it’s not! I told Hammer to kill me instead.” _

_ Steve cupped Peter’s tear-stained face, “I’m so sorry bud, it’s going to be okay.” There wasn’t anything else that the former could say to the sniffling child, but he wished there was something more, even if it was a little bit more. The heartbroken expression scrawled over Peter’s expression tugged on his heartstrings, and Steve longed to bundle him up and wipe his tears away.  _

_ An hour later, a scared Tony Stark ran into the SHIELD hospital, worry, and concern written all over his features. The team wore apologetic expressions towards the clearly distressed man, because it wasn’t right for the man to lose the woman he loved, and almost lose his son on the same day.  _

_ Natasha breathed out, “Pepper’s in surgery. It doesn’t look too good, I’m sorry Tony, I really am. Steve’s trying to calm Peter down.”  _

_ Tony stiffly nodded his head at the idea of losing the love of his life and went to the recovery room where he found Peter sobbing into Steve’s chest. Steve wore a sympathetic look and gestured to the crying bundle in his arms.  _

_ Tony nodded and whispered a thank you as he approached his weeping son. Tony carded his digits through Peter’s hair, muscle memory that was coded in him from when Peter was born. The gesture always seemed to calm the boy down. Peter only sobbed harder. Tony wrapped his arms around Peter, guiding the teenager towards the crook of his neck.  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Peter hoarsely rasped, “I’m sorry!”

_ Tony asked softly, “Bud, what on Earth do you have to be sorry for?” _

_ Peter only whispered, “It was supposed to me.” _

_ He said nothing else and continued to cry into the older man’s chest.  _

Peter was silent for a few minutes as the memory resurfaced in his head and he nodded and threw himself around Tony and the waterworks continued all over again. Tony carefully maneuvered Peter off the bed and onto his lap and held him tight, releasing a few tears of his own. 

Tony brought his hands to comb through Peter’s disheveled curls, a feeling that both had missed desperately, and Peter craved for the soft touch. He thrived off of positive touch, and he was tired, sick of actually, the harmful, hurtful touch. He just wanted to stay in his Dad’s arms forever. 

Tony began to rock his weeping child back and forth, “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m holding you, and I’m never,  _ ever _ , going to let anyone hurt you ever again. You’re never going to lose me, I’m right here.”

Peter sniffled as Tony rubbed soft circles onto his thin trembling form. Peter whispered in a childish like tone, “Dad, I’m so scared. It hurts.” He curled up against the arc reactor, finding solace in the blue hue emitted out of it. Some things never change. 

Tony nodded and leaned back as he held his boy tightly, “I know bud. We’re going to work on it, you’re going to get better. I promise. Beck,...”

Peter tensed. 

Tony immediately corrected himself, “He, sorry bud, he’s dead. We found him trying to escape and he’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore bud. You’re safe with me alright?”

Peter feverishly nodded as his father hummed a tune to lull him to sleep. 

Tony would never tell Peter that he was the one to kill Beck. Some things were better left unsaid. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey dudes! This is the final chapter of this fic. I really hoped you guys enjoyed reading this just as much as I did writing this. I hope that I wrapped this up quite nicely.

Peter fastened himself tightly around his Dad, desperately praying that no nightmare would come to him, wrapping his frail, bony fingers tightly around his Dad, desperately clutching him for a lifeline. He couldn’t help the fear and panic consume him. He’s been in pain for so long, and he still is. His wounds haven’t fully healed yet, and the scar tissue over Peter’s legs were inflamed, which meant that Peter wasn’t allowed to use his legs for a few weeks, but was okay with that, because that gave him more time to be in his Dad’s warm arms. Not that Tony would ever let Peter out of his sight anyways. 

Peter stifled as he saw waves of color morph into the unforgivable face of Quentin Beck, the word was whispered aloud like a childish plea for help. Tony immediately sensed his boy’s distress, speaking in a hushed, consoling tone, “Hey, you’re okay. It’s just a dream, he can’t hurt you anymore. Wake up bud. You’re safe, you’re in Dad’s arms. I’m holding you.” 

Peter’s eyes snapped awake and loomed with terror as he lurched forward and breathed heavily. He wheezed out, “Dad, it, it hurts.” He winced as he leaned his head against his Dad, trying to find a way to calm himself down, he was tired of the panic, tired of the pain and the nightmares. He just wanted to forget that Beck had ever happened and go back to living his own life. 

But he couldn’t go back. This was his normal now. All they could do was go forth, the road to recovery was rocky after all. 

But one day, Peter would get there. He was strong, and had the support of his family and friends, and would always. Ned had apologized that this was all his fault, but Peter waved it off. After all, it wasn’t him that kidnapped him and tortured him. His Uncle Rhodey came around every week to check up on Peter, and make sure that Peter knew he wasn’t alone. And of course, Peter had the undying support, love, and care of his Dad who would do everything to ensure that one day Peter would be okay. 

And he would, in time.

Because he had his home, forever, and always. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it! The final chapter of this fic! Please be sure to leave kudos as well as your thoughts/opinions/feedback on this fic. How did you guys like it? Favorite part? Least? I hope I wrote Beck to be as evil as possible, I wanted to make the readers (you guys) hate him. How'd I do? Also, happy holidays to those who celebrate them! :)


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